


Lax Laboratory Practice

by gebieterin



Series: You're in the army now [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Bulges and Nooks, Expletives, M/M, Slapping, Voyeurism, Xenobiology, but really isn't, laboratory experimentation, lax laboratory practice, might seem like dubcon at first, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gebieterin/pseuds/gebieterin
Summary: Is it still alien abduction when the alien is abducted? And what will the "lab tour" entail? Two scientists are taking advantage that a new arrival gives them the opportunity for a particular field study.(Or: in which Dave puts extensive planning into getting back at Sollux for accidentally breaking his rib)(Edit, please read the first part of the series or you might get confused. I marginally changed the dialogue in the beginning to make it a bit clearer nontheless.)





	1. The Lab Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, to be completely honest, lying back for a moment and catching your breath is not the worst thing that could happen at the moment. Granted, the fact that it is on some sort of laboratory table with your hands and feet bound firmly makes you quite a bit anxious.

 

“ _Tho, thith ith your revenge. You forthe me to do paperwork.”_

“ _It's just a simple questionnaire. Please read it to the end first, and then tell me if you have any questions.”_

“ _Thanks Dave, because I never have rethearched kinks on the internet, pleathe ecthplain the function of a safeword to me ... it jutht theems odd to me to give a potential kithmethith a detailed litht of thingth I am not really okay with?”_

“ _Your sarcasm is noted and appreciated. Hehe, say 'kithmethith' again. On the other hand, please don't, laughing still really hurts. And it's not a shopping list for me, but for knowing what to actively avoid!”_

 

 “ _Kithmethith. Heehee, thuffer! Thee, thith ith how you do it right. You humanth sure are weird.”_

 “ _CAPTOR GET YOUR SKINNY ASS OUT OF MY INFIRMARY! NO AGITATING MY PATIENTS!”_

 “ _Ow, ow, yeth nurthe, not the hornth, I'm going, I'm going! Bye Dave!”_

 

~*~

 

Well, to be completely honest, lying back for a moment and catching your breath is not the worst thing that could happen at the moment. Granted, the fact that it is on some sort of laboratory table with your hands and feet bound firmly makes you quite a bit anxious. To cover up, you amuse yourself with insulting your captors and their mammalian heritage.

 Okay, recap. You got caught. Bad enough.

 Some days ago, they had managed to slap some contraption around your throat that dampens your psionics. At first, it left you dizzy and confused every time you automatically tried to grab for powers now effectively sealed. Also, it gave you a headache from hell in the beginning. Still, you made a break for it when the guards came for you to give you 'the lab tour'.

 You still have no idea how they managed to get ahead of you again – this place seems a veritable maze. At least the two human guards seemed to be equally surprised to see you race around a corner and towards them, but your momentum made breaking and turning around before they reached you impossible on the slippery floor.

 Despite your resistance, they dragged you to a nearby lab which looks like military grade equipment – worse.

 The ensuing short fight couldn't even be called much of a struggle. With your psychic abilities taken, you are none too strong for a young troll, they larger and bulkier. You still had the slight advantage in trollish strength, could have maybe even taken down one, but they outnumbered you. Still, you managed to land some good solid kicks on one of them while they had wrestled your uniform jacket from you (at least only that). Not that it helped much, and maybe they would not have slammed you down to hard enough to take your breath away for a moment if you hadn't. They had had no problems to then press you down on a cold metal surface, adjust something for your height before securing your wrists and ankles with clasps, effectively binding you spreadeagled flat on your back, arms above your head to either side of the table-thing. Yeah, that was about when you resorted to cussing.

 The two humans take little heed of the insults you are spewing at them, they just grin and give a brief salute to the two white-coats who enter. Apparently, the lab staff is sure enough that the restraints will hold you and tell the guards to leave.

 You just hope that the guards will not find any possibility to watch surveillance feeds of what is about to happen.

 

 They seem to have enlisted some colder ( _higher_ ) blooded troll for their labs, not as a prisoner, if the way he holds himself and the crisp white lab coat are any indication ( _why not just experiment on him?_!). This comes as a surprise you are not entirely sure how to feel about. You snarl vile threats. This medictator, approaching together with a blond human male, is violet enough to sprout ear fins. You want to bury your claws in his gills; throat, thoracic, or otherwise, and you tell him so, all the while thrashing against your bonds.

 He casually backhands you across the face, startling you into silence for the moment.

 „And that will be _doctor_ 'fucking water-breathing fish-face' to you, pissblood. And a vivisection, if you don't _settle down_.“ He is punctuating the last words with two more slaps on either side of your face, and you blink dizzily at him through the yellow-tinged haze of watering eyes.

 

 The human doctor tsks at him, looking reproachful at his colleague over the rim of dark shades.

 The troll just snorts. “No, really, you gotta take a firm-handed approach with these from the beginnin'. Yellow-bloods are high-strung enough as is, but the pilots tend to be uppity at best.”

 “High-thtrung?! I'll show you high-thtrung, you -” _Ow_. Right, currently no psionics available to deflect a slap to the face. And fish-face seems to enjoy this fact way too much. Looks like you're screwed. And with the beginnings of another headache from reaching for your powers to boot.

 You experimentally tug on the bindings again, also to mask the fact that you are breathing faster, surely not panic, just a bit apprehension setting in. No, here goes nothing, good and secure, not cruelly tight, but no room to slither a hand out. Secure enough over your boots that you won't be able to kick these off to free a leg.

 While fin-ears busies himself with some trays, and you do not want to think about what implements might rattle on their surface, the human rests a hand on your forearm soothingly. You could have sworn one side of his mouth twitched from its military standard-issue neutral line.

 “Relax. We're not actually going perform a vivisection today.”

 “Aw man, we're not?” Fin-ears has the gall to look disappointed when he turns. You flinch against the metal slab with a startled gasp, because he already got a scalpel in hand. “We dinna have a yellow-blood yet, maybe things are arranged differently?”

With an amused head-shake, the human holds his hand out for the scalpel. An embarrassingly fearful little chirp escapes you when he turns the blade downwards over your shirt's collar. You hold your breath, for the moment not daring to try and thrash around for fear of the blade catching skin, even though his hand seems steady.

“Shoulda told the guards to strip him, would've saved time”, the troll drawls. The look you shoot him is dirty enough to make him grin lewdly.

“Now, where would be the fun in that”, the human states calmly, while hooking the sharp little blade under your shirt's collar.

You huff at that despite yourself. “Wow, and here neither of you did even buy me dinner firtht.” Do you have a death wish? Might seem like it. Stress always makes your mouth get away from you. “Thith date really thuckth.” You sniff haughtily.

“Sorry, princess.” Your breath hitches when the scalpel parts down the front of your shirt with little effort, but he pulled away safely from your skin. “No fraternization with the specimen. It's in the rules somewhere, might make some too sentimental, trading names, whispering sweets nothings and shit like that.”

You swallow hard. Specimen have a tendency to end up in glass jars. _Several_ glass jars. Your right leg starts to jitter with nerves, jangling the cuff ever so slightly. They either do not notice or choose not to comment on this tell about how nervous this whole setup makes you. Two more cuts through the fabric at each sleeve have your shirt fall away. You still try to avoid the contact when the human starts to slide his hands over the newly bared expanse of your skin with clinical interest, poking here and prodding muscle there. At least he put the scalpel down to the side at some point. You really wish you weren't ticklish enough to shiver every time he draws a hand down one of your sides.

“Interesting, how different the skin structure is, his is smoother and softer than yours, but still thicker and more even than human skin.”

With a questioning hum, the troll steps closer, rolls up one sleeve of his lab coat to the elbow and and gently rasps the back of his forearm over your abdomen when the human points there, drawing a gasp from you. Sea dweller skin feels rougher, somewhere between high-grid sandpaper and what you imagine shark skin to feel like, and the contact makes you squirm and your muscles try to curve inwards and away. Not on the inside of his arm or his palm, though, when he repeats the motion with these, though his body temperature is low enough to make his hands cold. You fix your eyes on the ceiling, try to get your heartbeat to slow down and will your body to not take any interest in the still soft and painless touches. An embarrassed blush spreads on your face at the first stirrings of your bulge uncurling lazily. Pure physical response. However, as long as they do not decide to take the skin off of you for comparison, maybe you can get through this relatively unscathed.

“Not to kill the mood here or anything, but any hint about how a blade and/or needle might get involved would really be apprethiated.” Ah great, now you're babbling. Nerves, man. Will get you into trouble one of these days. Or right about now.

The human's teeth are dull, but the brief flash of a smile seems as sharp as any troll's. “We had rather hoped to avoid this particular kind of invasive methods with our scheduled topic of study today.”

'This particular kind of invasive' somehow does not translate to 'completely non-invasive'. Despite the not-really-reassurance, your eyes widen in fear and your breath hitches, and you see the sea dweller flash very sharp teeth at you in a brief display of gleeful threat to answer this sign of weakness. The tingling sensation in your gut (and lower, dammit!) is not purely one of fear, but you will still blame fear and instinct for any inappropriate physical reaction.

 

What could they have planned? This is no interrogation; no questions asked so far (though somehow you begin to suspect you might have preferred one – then again, anything harder than a slap and you might change your opinion on that quickly). You really hope it won't be anything up the alley of 'pain tolerance'. You'd hate to deliver false results by squeaking like a wiggler and begging for mercy much too soon. Maybe something harmless, allergy testing? Yeah, no potential to melt parts of your skin away here. You really would prefer to have an answer before you frighten yourself into a shivering mess by pure speculation.

When neither of them volunteers any further information, you give a resigned sigh. “And which topic might that be today.” (Feeding habits, please? That couldn't be too bad?)

The human has the nerve you pat your head, right between your two sets of horns. “So glad that you're asking. Points for participation.” The troll coughs to cover a laugh, and you sneer while cringing under the hand still on your head. At least he did not try to shoosh you on your face.

“See, we are severely understaffed in troll volunteers currently.”

“ _Volunteerth_ , yeah right.”

He ignores your remark. “So, as your arrival gave us a set, we can now turn our attention to the topic of mating mechanics.”

Startled, you feel you body tense. “You've got to be fucking kidding me!” Your voice is thinner than you would have liked it. You make to snap at the human's hand with you pointy teeth, but he is quick to remove his fingers from your limited reach.

With an amused huff, he continues. “My colleague here can finally give me a better demonstration, so let's have ourselves a bit of a show-and-tell.” He looks at you over his shades, and his red eyes twinkle with mirth. “For science, of course.”

The sea dweller looses his battle with laughter and guffaws. “Purely scientific interest.”

Your mind draws a blank, and you still with suspicion. “And what if I do not want to 'volunteer' for that particular topic?”

Two sets of shrugs, and a clawed hand pointedly tapping the restraint on your left wrist. “Not like you got much of a choice here.”

You were right, you are screwed. Just not in the way you initially thought. The shiver running down your spine must be pure rage, not fear and surely no sliver of arousal.

“You bulgemuncher wouldn't even undo the binding”, you grit out through clenched teeth.

The troll cackles, while the human makes some notes on a clipboard and shakes his head. “Not with that attitude, no.”

 

You could try to play along just to get them to free you, but even if by some miracle you managed to take them both out, or rather get to the door without getting caught, you have no idea if the guards are nearby. And wouldn't that be just lovely, running into these again. You doubt that you would be able to get that damned collar off your neck, let alone fast enough for your psionics to be any use against whoever caught up with you first. And it might not be a plus to get these doctors angry at you.

Being docile to charm your way out of the restraints does not seem to be likely anyway, because you cannot help but snarl. Maybe they can still be reasoned with. “I remember a rule regarding that kind of behavior being againtht some convention on the treatment of an enemy captive?”

They look at each other, baffled, before sharing a brief bark of laughter. “Oh buddy, did you land in the wrong kind of lab”, the human states.

You glare at him, starting to thrash against the restraints more earnestly. Still, they hold. “I will thcream!”

“Oh _pleathe_ , do!” That predatory gleam is back in the sea dweller's face, and was he just openly mocking your speech impediment now.

You bare your teeth back at him with a snarl and silently curse the fact that you cannot press your legs together to keep more instinct-driven parts of your anatomy from taking interest in the proceedings. Or, failing that, at least manage to suppress the tell-tale rattling which skirts the edges of your sounds. While the human might mercifully be none the wiser, the sea dweller's grin widens even more.

“Oh, someone is _interested_ ”, he sing-songs gleefully.

You press your lips together and try to even out your breathing, but he is already explaining to his colleague that the rattling threat sounds fall into a more concupiscent area than pure platonic muderlust, therefore bound to trigger pitch endorphins in the addressee. You feel strangely betrayed that he would give information like that to a human. Then again, _scientists_. The human nods with interest, but does not engage the other as long as you hoped. He steps to the side and gestures for him to move on.

You could maybe forgive the human's curiosity, but mark the sea troll as traitor in your mind. Even more so when he lets his claws skim ever so slightly over the taut skin of your abdomen and your sides, just enough to enjoy the way it makes you shiver. You are fully aware that he could claw you to ribbons, should he decide so, but for the moment keeps his touch treacherously tame. He is waiting for you to emit that rattling again, but you stubbornly shake your head and for once keep your mouth shut.

You cannot suppress a small panic-chirp when he shrugs with mock-regret and starts to tamper with your belt.

 You would kick at him, but only manage to rattle the cuffs around your ankles. You would plead, but something tells you that it would only excite him more. Your resolve for silence is already tested when he reaches to undo the buttons down the front of your pants. Snarling and squirming violently enough to at least inconvenience him there, you only have so much room to move in your position.

 With a huff and a stinging slap to your flank, he centers you again with little effort. It gains him a pained hiss from you, and you ponder your options. Surely thrashing in your bonds means risking more slaps, but you do not want to keep still and let him have his way with you completely unchallenged. You would have expected the human to help him hold you down, but he just watches the proceedings with mild interest, leaning back against a table to the side, keeping his arms crossed. No help to be expected from that one, but at least currently not for either of you.

 There already is a slight ache in your muscles from the strain of being bound and thrashing around. You are breathing hard and have gained nothing but a small spike of glee for having antagonized the sea troll further. Not the smartest thing maybe, and it only serves to marginally delay the inevitable.

 “Maybe we should find more straps to keep you down”, fin-ears muses.

 “What, not up for a challenge?” Your grin pretends at being insolent.

 Unfortunately, in reply he just makes short work of your trouser's buttons. You snarl in embarrassed anger, but at that point your squirming and thrashing is only a token resistance when he shoves your trousers, and boxers along with them, down to bunch under your knees.

 “So, let's get started with anatomy lessons first.” Though the sea dwellers tone is business-like, the flourish with which he gestures to his human colleague makes the other huff a laugh. The human snaps on thin surgical gloves and moves nearer again. Meanwhile, you stare fixedly at the ceiling, blushing furiously and hoping for spontaneous combustion from mortification.

 “You are already familiar with the basics, I take it.” You are not proud of the high-pitched chirp he shocks out of you by not only pointing to, but casually touching the top of you bone-shield.

 “Corrugated bone-shield, or bone-sheath, though it's mostly chitin.” His cold fingers lazily trail over the serrated edges and corrugated surface, and you press your eyes closed with a shiver. Only to have them fly open again with a squeak when the human mirrors his motion nearly shyly. Not fair, because -

 “While the chitin in itself is not overly sensitive, touch travels all too well to be bulge coiled underneath.” The troll lightly drums his fingers on said part, and you choke back a whimper when your hips jerk and keeping your bulge sheathed becomes an exercise in willpower.

 “The slit in the middle will dilate further when the subject is in a higher state of arousal and the bulge wants to emerge.” You try to surge up and oh he wouldn't _that is not where a claw should ever go_! It shocks a panicked yell from you, which makes the other troll grin. Granted, he was oh-so-careful, and part of you is even slightly grateful, because it scared your bulge back into hiding when it had begun to stir without your say-so to investigate the earlier disturbance.

 The human keeps a clinically curious touch on you while asking details about slats, fortification, attachment to skin and/or sinew and you only get about every third word because you have taken to squeezing your eyes shut and reciting hatchery rhymes in your head in order not to be embarrassed further.

 “Hm.” Another light drumming of fingers has you fighting for even breaths. “Our specimen does really not seem into studying with us today?” Awww is that a slight worry in his voice. Would be lovely, if only it was sincere.

 The sea troll snickers. “Nah, he's just bein' a petulant little shit.”

 You crack an eye open at him and raise an eyebrow with murderous intent. The human hums in question.

 “Betcha he already is a sodden mess.”

He is right of course, but you would currently rather swallow your own tongue than admit to it.


	2. Mating Mechanics

 Two cold hands land on your thighs and trace upward between your legs. For all your squirming and snarling, you cannot keep him from reaching the admittedly wet edges of you nook. To add insult to injury, he then grabs at his colleagues wrist to prove his assumption by leading his gloved fingers between your legs. You whine in mortification, but kicking reflexively still only has you being stopped short by the bindings.

 “Huh. How did you know.”

 You exchange a startled glance with the other troll. He gets to a conclusion faster, but then again, he does not have gloved fingers skimming at a sensitive area in a very distracting manner. A very cold palm drawing gentle circles over your sheath and sensitive skin around puts you at further disadvantage. He is still trying to coax sensitive anatomy out into the open, the better to torture you with. It makes your abdominal muscles twitch to try and keep yourself in control.

 “Ah, I forgot, humans have a different olfactory perception. Pheromones. We can smell these, and arousal, on each other. Read somewhere that humans can, too, among their own kind, but in a much more limited and rudimentary fashion.”

That is when you decide that you hate scientists. Even more so when the human slips a finger inside your nook and curls it there, making you squirm in a decidedly none-too-evasive manner. Even _more_ more so when he adds a second and keeps lazily curling them.

 You momentarily lost track of the troll and jerk violently when he suddenly has a finger hooked around one of your horns to command your attention.

 “Come on, we don't have all day”, he murmurs, and you hope it is quietly enough that the human does not hear his next words. “Gonna fuck you either way, and can still tape your sheath shut if you don't wanna unsheathe anyway.” Your rattling snarl is pure outrage, but still tinged around the edges with fear. Even a sea troll would not be that depraved! At least you hope so.

 “Fucking thalt-blood, you wouldn't!” you hiss at him. Keeping a bulge trapped inside would keep things much tighter and decidedly less fun for the receiver of such a perversity. In this case, yourself!

 His dark chuckle does nothing to calm you down.

 “Hoy, no psychological torture up there!” The human snaps the fingers of his free hand and sounds stern. “No influencing results, we were going for physical stimulation today.” Today. Lovely to hear. So you can yet hope for a repeat performance! You feel the inappropriate urge to laugh.

 “Well, in that case...” The troll's grin is everything but contrite when he trails cool open-mouthed kisses down the side of your throat, carefully lifting the thrice-damned collar for better reach – before biting down in the soft juncture between throat and shoulder. Not hard enough to actually break skin (you hope), but with sharp teeth and enough pressure that the sting tears a reluctant trill-and-moan from you and finally breaks your concentration enough that you know you lost that part of the match when the human chuckles and takes gentle hold of your newly unsheathed bulge.

 “ _Unfair_!” you grit out. The sea dweller presses a deceptively mild kiss to your shoulder, as if in apology, and turns to join his colleague again. You roll your eyes and go back to studying the ceiling tiles.

 “With the unsheathing of the bulge”, he starts in an instructive tone, “the nook is able to dilate further for better... accommodation. Also, more fluid is released for ease of... pendin' penetration.”

 The human is shaking with barely suppressed laughter, which does interesting things to the fingers he still has in your nook.

 “Affirmative.” He manages to only sound slightly strangled with mirth. You really would like to strangle him more personally.

 “Well, shall we proceed, or do we need more data?” The sea dweller is wearing a very shark-like grin, you can just hear it along with the eagerness in his voice.

 The human seems to consider. “We have a solid baseline, but maybe we should take a temperature for comparison?”

 You snap a growl at them. “Don't. You. Dare.”

 The human withdraws his fingers, and you absolutely do not whine at the loss of contact and sudden feeling of hungry emptiness. He pats your thigh amicably and steps back. “Another time, then.”

He has the gall to laugh at your pitch-rattling snarl.

The troll makes to remove his lab coat. “No”, you say, “leave it on.”

 He laughs, but complies. “Kinky little shit, ain't ya.” You bare your teeth at him, but it is a pure formality at this point, and you both know it.

 “Jutht get it over with already!” It is petulant and you are admitting defeat, but hearing it push him to prey-chattering at you is worth it.

 “Geez, eager, are we?” He just has to keep the last word, but you take a small triumph in how his hands are shaking when he unbuttons and lowers his trousers. He pulls up easily on the table-thing with you, skimming a cold hand over your bulge just to see you shiver with anticipation (well, and: _cold_!). Still just crouching over you, barely restrained want in the tension of his body, he pinches your flank. You frown at him, until you see his questioning look. You roll your eyes, but also nod up at him, and he all but pounces on you.

 You arch up in the full-bodied contact, also at hip level with all entangling it entails, and enjoy the helpless feeling of his clothes on your exposed skin, his roaming hands where you must keep still. He keeps most of his weight on one elbow and claws at your exposed side with his free hand while drawing you into a biting and brine-tasting kiss. His claws leave shallow scratches, and you trill delightedly into his mouth. You fell his grin before he nips at your lips one last time and draws back.

 “Hey!” You complain.

 “No, do not stop on my account.” The human sounds amused. You really forgot. You turn your head and give him a contrite grin.

 “Well, wouldn't wanna forget the science of it”, the sea dweller jibes and leans more on his side. The human blushes deeply but takes the implied invitation to get a better view of the mechanics.

 The other troll is heavy on your side, but you don't care much when your bulges disentangle and his searches for shelter between your legs. And because he is a mean-tempered salt-blood, he presses your lower bodies together in a way that traps your own bulge between the two of you.

 “Thienthe won't be able to thee a thing like that”, you chide sweetly, and regret it slightly because he withdraws from your side to straighten up a bit. His look of concentration working out the logistics of keeping his balance over your bound body while still gaining access to you and at the same time giving his colleague valuable insights makes you snicker, though.

 He retaliates in the best possible way, easing the tapered end of his bulge into your nook, and the cold wet pressure slowly opening you up for its thicker parts makes your head roll back with a whispered curse of delight, fit to crack your horns against the table.

 The temperature difference, however, makes you whine. “Fuck, forgot how cold you are!” He snickers. Even without much conscious involvement from your side, your own bulge would now instinctively seek access to him, but he keeps it caught to your abdomen with one hand for the moment out of pure spite. You groan, because from a purely caliginous standpoint, he 'won' you fair and square when you admitted defeat, and it would be his right to keep it that way. You hope that these more traditional rules will not apply in this setting, or that he is only taking a moment to establish dominance. He presses on until he forced his whole length into you, and you grind down on the corrugated surface of his sheath to ease the slight sting of the stretch into something more pleasurable.

 “Should leave ya hangin', for all your backtalk”, he threatens breathlessly, giving your bulge a slight squeeze that sets you rattling again.

 “Don't... ”, you all but plead.

 He makes a show of pondering the notion, while starting to roll his hips in a quite distracting manner. “Still haven't heard that screamin' you promised.”

 “Come onnnn, you thtill have the upper hand, not much I can do from thith angle.” You rattle your bonds for emphasis.

 “Hmm yes, you make for a nice little starfish like that.” You might growl at that. He laughs and makes a show of considering. “No, not convinced yet.” Now he is just being mean, and you whine pathetically.

 The human huffs a laugh from where he is leaning against a table. “Aw come on, for science!”

 “Ha, _thank_ you!” You give in to the childish urge to stick your tongue out at your tormentor.

 “What, sidin' with the specimen, that's very lax laboratory practice!” But the sea dweller still laughs and lets go of your bulge after another squeeze. Even helps guide it, as the angle is really not the most fortunate for you. You still won't gain the same full access he has to you, but it trumps most alternatives. That is where his consideration seems to end, because he then sets to his task vehemently, and for a moment you are overwhelmed, fighting for breath around small whimpering sounds. It is oddly helpful that you do not have to worry where to put your arms or claw your hands. Straining in your bonds centers you in his onslaught.

 He still seems oddly set to draw screams from you, and you do not want to give him that satisfaction just yet. It is a losing battle, going downhill with a yell when he grabs your hips with bruising fingers and prickling claws. You'll have these marks to show for days, and the anger draws you back in, as he knew it would. You do not keep quiet after that, do not keep your insults checked for lack of opportunity to get at him with your claws, just as he does not keep all too gentle with you. Until just as you can feel the building tension start to pool pleasure in your nether regions, and you shiver and distractedly think about screaming for him, that he gentles. Which at this point draws a rather petulant snarl from you.

 “Nah-ah, little starfish, won't last long like that, you're too close already. Wanna keep you a little while longer.” But you can feel him clench around you and know that he, too, is much too near to reaching climax along with you. You manage to give your bulge just the slightest flick and feel his nook try to draw you in more, which makes you clench around him in response, and enjoy him uttering a breathless curse.

 If only you could access your psionics. Whatever reply you wanted to spew at him, he cuts down to a “Hnnnf” with an expert roll of his hips, and keeps rocking deceptively tender, like waves lapping at the shore.

 You won't admit that you want both at the same time - him to keep you like that, trusting and cared for, but also to up and drive you over the cliff sooner rather than later by using your bound body without mercy. Too much potential for tender bullshit in the first option.

 “Figurth – nnnh - that you would revert back to wavey ebb'n'flow, thalt licker, can't keep to a good land rhythm. Flipping flush on me?” He snarls at that, and you decide you want to rile him up some more. “Or out of land breath ah!- already?” Oh, and he is a delight when he gets all still and dark with anger for a moment, eyes burning into yours, all calm before the storm. It is a look like he wants to draw you underwater and drown you.

 “Should drown you in tenderness just to spite you, nothin' too flushed about that”, he huffs. “Keep you bound and wantin' till you're ready to beg all sweet 'n' _desperate_.”

 Your breath hitches at that, because he could. Worse, he would. Well, this did not go as planned. Raising and rolling your hips at him with a low whine just makes him grin darkly and pin you back down with claws angled in a way you do not want to roll into.

“Nah-ah, starfish, I want words, and you know which.” It amuses him, the way your treacherous body wants to lean in closer despite his claws, and how much concentration it costs you to keep back, how it makes you shudder.

 “Fuck. You.”

 He smiles sweetly. “Not the right words”, he chides, but he partly withdraws the threat of claws to lean down and plant a soft sweet cold kiss on your lips, drawing back when you try to turn it to biting. He all but stills his hips, reducing the stimulation you are seeking for to small involuntary movements of his bulge.

 “Will you jutht fuck me already!” It is not really begging if you do not say please, is it?

 “Aww dahlin', such a way with words. But then again, you'll have to be more specific.”

 You make an anatomically very inaccurate proposal that earns you an amused huff, along with a slap to your flank. “Now that's really no language for laboratory use.”

Pleading with both eyes and body only gets you a smirk and a head-shake. You pout, but you have already admitted defeat, and you are getting cold. And it is not really begging if you do not say please.

 You close your eyes with a deep breath, but cannot make your teeth unclench. He helps your inner turmoil along with a harder, rolling thrust.

 “Okay, _pleathe_. Thith is me begging for it. Pleathe move, please fuck me harder, pleathe make me come, pleathe pleathe _pleathe_...” You lose your line of thought when he takes you at your word with a triumphant sound and starts fucking you in earnest. It does not take either of you long after that. His material is cold enough in you when he spills that your chirr is tinged with annoyance, and an evil little part of you hopes that the temperature difference is as strange for him as it is for you. You accept your body's insistence to gather his material up in your genetic bladder to mix with what is retained of your own and hope it will warm up faster than last time (you really do not want anyone to make you clean up the mess of letting it go if you do not have to). From the way he tenses, you know he does the same.

~*~

He stays slumped over you for a moment, while the two of you wait for your breathing to even out and your hear-rates to slow to blood-typical levels, for your bulges to sheath back into their own housing (that part makes you wince, already feeling a bit sore).

A faint clicking sound and new freedom of movement on your ankles makes you nod up to Dave gratefully when he turns to free you hands. You have to bite down on a pained moan when you try to get your arms down. While Dave rubs at your muscles, Eridan shuffles upright groggily and starts manhandling you into a more or less sitting position next to him. You make feeble protests, as your muscles still protest the motion, leaning heavy on him. The sad remains of your shirt prove handy to clean up a bit, but fuck if sitting on metal on your bare ass is in any way comfortable. Eridan transfers your weight to Dave for a moment to don up his trousers, and they take mercy on you and help you with yours when your arms do not support your need for cover. The three of you sit next to each other in amicable silence for a moment, both of them fussing a bit over you by rubbing your shoulders and arms, before Eridan starts to snicker.

“Well, ya feelin' _educated_ on matin' mechanics now?”

Dave tries to whack him over your head, but stops short with a sharp intake of breath, putting a hand over his ribs. You hide your face on his shoulder and purr an apology. His restraint in participating earlier makes more sense to you now. You let a still slightly jerky hand wander near his groin and hum in question 

“Nah, I'm... well, not _good_ , but fractured rib and the necessary kind of repetitive motion and muscle tension would not go too well together just yet”

And if he is admitting that much, he must be in more pain than he lets on. He glares at you, only half playful, as if this is somehow your fault. Well. To be fair, it totally is. You smile sweetly, but still duck your head. He hooks a finger around one of your horns, the same gesture Eridan used earlier, and draws you nearer. “Make no mistake, though, and think yourself safe. Once I am more healed, your ass is mine.”

You are not sure whether to hope he is speaking figuratively or not. You emit a softly rattling challenge-chirr he might not even know how to fully appreciate, but he still slides his arm around your waist. Incidentally brushing over the scratches Eridan left there, pressing down softly when you shudder and hiss. Yeah, you can see this working out.

Maybe he saw the way Eridan's face just twisted into embarrassed longing for a second, after a brief flash of surprised jealousy, or how he opened and closed his mouth around a question he cannot yet bring himself to ask. He punches the sea troll lightly in the thigh and raises an eyebrow at him.

“And after that, we can fish ED from the saltwater training pool – I'm thinking with a _net_ \- and go full 'Shape of Water' on him. The X-rated version.”

You have no idea what that means, but the way Eridan flops to the side, relieved and with delighted laughter, makes you suspect that they have been watching silly movies with Karkat again.

Yeah, together you just might make this work. You will each be the badass that can handle a three-way kismessitude, even with inter-species partners!

 


End file.
